Entering the Battle (8)
"Gi-jeong hyung. Your team's vibe looks good these days."
Wang Ho-yeol, who had come up as the 3rd batter, said to Pi Gi-jeong, who was crouching at home plate wearing his catcher's gear.
"Yeah. Yours doesn't look so good. Heard you guys are getting cursed at, being told you're worse than the Wolves this year?"
Though it's not shown on TV broadcasts, catchers often converse with the batter standing in the box.
Sometimes the batter speaks first, and sometimes the catcher does.
What's important here isn't who speaks first, but that both sides talk out of necessity.
The catcher is the only position that exchanges signs with the pitcher and is informed of what pitch is coming and where. From the batter's perspective, it's only natural to probe the catcher to deduce the incoming pitch type.
Conversely, catchers tend to chatter away to disrupt the batter's concentration. Or they gather information, like what the batter is aiming for or what their condition is.
It's like a psychological warfare between the offense and the defense.
"Phew. It was just a light greeting, but you hit me with facts. I feel like this wound would heal if you tell me what you're throwing for the first pitch."
"Ha."
Pi Gi-jeong chuckled at the ridiculous remark.
It happens often. They joke around while subtly probing.
But it didn't work on Pi Gi-jeong, a 15-year pro.
"The first pitch is coming at your head."
"Ah, the kid who just came up. Did he come in as a one-point pitcher?"
A one-point pitcher refers to a pitcher who faces only one batter and comes out.
It's like a troubleshooter who comes in to handle the opposing team's power hitter in a crisis situation and then leaves.
Usually, left-handed or underhand pitchers often came in as one-point pitchers.
However, Han Min-woo was neither left-handed nor underhand, and he hadn't come in as a one-point pitcher either.
In other words, making an indirect reference to the rule that hitting the batter in the head results in immediate ejection, he was asking in a roundabout way if he would really throw at his head.
"It's not like I can't throw it."
"The Wolves have a lot of pitchers too. Ours are all struggling. Anyway, your team is really hot lately."
"Because it's summer."
"I'm not talking about the weather. Anyway, I'm telling you, this hyung is totally a T."
While Wang Ho-yeol was grumbling, Han Min-woo on the mound sent a sign.
The first pitch was a four-seam fastball. The course was coming in low and away from the batter.
A course that's hard to hit even if you know it's coming, as long as it's accurately controlled.
'Okay.'
Whether Han Min-woo could throw it or not wasn't important.
What Pi Gi-jeong had to do from now on was make sure the ball didn't get past him, no matter where it flew.
"……."
"……."
As Han Min-woo went into his windup, the conversation at home plate abruptly stopped.
The batter had to focus on the pitcher's incoming pitch, and the catcher also had to be tense to catch it. This was because the ball leaving the pitcher's hand reached the catcher's mitt in the blink of an eye.
Even though Han Min-woo's pitching speed was on the slower side in the professional world, it was still a pro's pitch. It wasn't so shabby that it could be casually caught while talking.
Han Min-woo threw the ball.
Smack—!
"Strike!"
The first pitch was a ball that precisely grazed the outside of the zone. Wang Ho-yeol didn't move a muscle and just stared at it.
It was a course where it was hard to get a good hit even if you swung. Let alone in a two-strike situation, it was a pitch you wouldn't touch even if you knew it was coming on the first pitch.
'That's it.'
Thinking about it anew, goosebumps rise whenever he catches a pitch from a pitcher with excellent control. Those who haven't felt the sensation of the ball precisely embedding into an outstretched mitt wouldn't understand.
Just how ecstatic it feels.
"Wow, great control. How do you even hit a pitch like that? They need to shrink the strike zone for this."
"Even when tons of those pitches come flying, you still hit over .300."
Pi Gi-jeong shot back briefly at Wang Ho-yeol, who was expressing his complaints.
"Aw, it's hard. Just give me one down the middle so your little brother can make a living. I'll buy you a drink after the game."
"I don't call the signs. So you'd rather swing and miss twice for me. Then I'll buy you beef after today's game."
"I know you're the one calling the signs, what's with the unbelievable talk. Alright, I'll swing and miss twice for you, so tell me the course. If I swing carelessly and get hit, it'll be troublesome for both you and me."
Ignoring his nonsense, Pi Gi-jeong gave a sign.
'How about a curve for the second pitch?'
Head shake.
'Or an inside changeup?'
Head shake.
'Then? Four-seamer again?'
Han Min-woo shook his head three times in a row. The guy soon sent a sign first.
'Slider. Sweeping away to the outside.'
'Okay.'
Pi Gi-jeong, having exchanged signs, got into his catching stance.
And the second pitch flew in.
Crack—!
"Ball."
Wang Ho-yeol's bat, which had sprung out, hesitated on the ball bending away from inside to outside. An ambiguous situation as to whether it was a swing or not.
Pi Gi-jeong, catching the ball, appealed for a check swing toward the first base umpire. But the result was safe. The first base umpire judged that Wang Ho-yeol hadn't swung the bat.
The ball count was now 1-1.
"Wow, shit. Almost pissed myself. I didn't see you like that, hyung, but you're a total fox, a fox. You're trying to trick me here?"
Even to Wang Ho-yeol's whining words, Pi Gi-jeong couldn't give any answer.
They hadn't even exchanged signs, but Han Min-woo suddenly went into his windup. Considering it took quite some time for the second pitch just before, it was practically throwing it right away.
The third pitch Han Min-woo threw flew inside.
'Nice timing.'
It had been agreed beforehand that if he threw a pitch without a sign, he would throw a four-seamer. Because of that, there was no problem in catching it.
Crack—!
"Foul!"
Wang Ho-yeol barely managed to foul off the four-seam fastball that flew inside.
Wang Ho-yeol, who had briefly stepped out of the batter's box, returned and exclaimed in admiration.
"Wow. That bastard's timing of jamming it inside is art. Art. Did you really not call the sign, hyung?"
"I told you."
"I doubted it. When you were on the national team with Myeong-hoon, Seung-min, and Jin-ho, you called the signs too, hyung."
"I did."
Pi Gi-jeong nodded and took his catching stance.
Objectively speaking, Pi Gi-jeong was a fairly outstanding catcher. It wasn't bragging. He was actually called up to the national team and made the roster every time.
What he was especially confident in was his ability to lead pitchers.
He checked the pitchers' tendencies and temperaments, and figured out their preferred locations. Based on that, he decided the pitch sequencing.
Because of that, even if the pitcher called the signs at first, they often ended up being dragged along by Pi Gi-jeong later. Since he kept calling signs for what the pitcher wanted to throw, eventually they just left it entirely up to Pi Gi-jeong.
So much so that among the current Wolves pitchers, there was no one who refused his signs.
But Han Min-woo was different.
'I just can't keep up with his locations.'
At first, he tried to figure Han Min-woo out and analyzed his pitch sequencing.
So he occasionally tried to call the signs first. But it was beyond his capabilities.
One day he competed mainly with four-seam fastballs, another day he lured batters by softly enticing them, another day he made opponents helpless with knife-like control, and yet another day he pinned them down with heavy stuff.
His style changed with every out count, every batter, and every day.
Because of that, it was impossible to grasp his pattern at all.
'I didn't know this was possible.'
Having caught pitches for a long time, Pi Gi-jeong knew how difficult it was for a pitcher to change their location.
Even Gu Dong-woo, a pitcher on the same team, was struggling right now because he couldn't change a location that had already been exploited by batters.
For a pitcher, changing their location was the same as changing their batting form. Changing locations required that much tricky and delicate processes.
But Han Min-woo didn't have that. Day by day, no, every moment, his deciding pitch changed, and his aim changed.
If compared to a batter, it would be like constantly changing his batting form while hitting.
"Phew."
Wang Ho-yeol, returning to the batter's box, let out a long breath.
Instantly, the aura emanating from the guy changed. It was Wang Ho-yeol's characteristic when he focused in scoring position or crisis situations.
'Ho-yeol has started being wary of Min-woo.'
Pi Gi-jeong sent a sign to Han Min-woo.
Wang Ho-yeol was famous for his delicate hitting. He knew how to hit the ball no matter what course it came from. Not only that, but he could push, pull, and hit behind the ball, spraying hits evenly across the entire baseball field.
A batter like this had to be softly enticed. Rather than relying on pitch quality, one had to steal their timing to compete.
'How about a changeup again?'
Head shake.
'Curve?'
Head shake.
But once again, Han Min-woo rejected Pi Gi-jeong's sign.
And what he chose was, once again, a slider. A pitch that swept away from the inside to the outside.
'Why is he insisting on the slider today?'
Pi Gi-jeong didn't understand.
He was a smart guy. There was no way a guy like him wouldn't know how dangerous it was to throw similar courses and pitch types in a row.
Moreover, the one standing in the batter's box was Wang Ho-yeol. One of the best contact hitters in the country. It was a situation where it would be hard to catch him even if the mind game was played as complexly as possible.
But he didn't reveal his inner thoughts.
Anyway, Han Min-woo had produced results up until now. He had struck out ridiculous batters with ridiculous pitches.
Trusting Han Min-woo this time too was his job.
Han Min-woo threw the fourth pitch.
At the same time, Wang Ho-yeol's bat spun.
The result was a draw.
Crack—!
"Foul!"
The batted ball flew toward the first base stands.
Seeing that sight, Wang Ho-yeol let out a sigh filled with regret.
And the guy's words that followed sent a chill down Pi Gi-jeong's spine.
"Ugh! I thought a changeup was coming."
'He was aiming for it.'
The fact that the foul ball flew toward first base meant his timing was late. Wang Ho-yeol was truly aiming for a changeup or a curve.
What if Han Min-woo had thrown a changeup or curve according to Pi Gi-jeong's sign?
No need to imagine. It probably would have gone over the fence. Wang Ho-yeol wasn't a player without power, and Min-woo's pitch with its timing read was nothing more than batting practice.
"That bastard called the sign again, right?"
"He's a bit too old to be called a punk."
"Ugh, why can't you just say it. Anyway, that guy is quite tricky. Why did the Dolphins give up a guy like him?"
"I don't know. Probably gave him to us so we can go to fall baseball."
"Anyway, they always do good things for others. Oh, he called the sign again. What did he say he's throwing?"
"You're not asking because you think I'll tell you, right?"
"You could tell me. Just let it slide once. I need to make a lot of money to marry off my kids. Don't you feel sorry for Min-sung and Min-ju?"
Wang Ho-yeol kept throwing useless words, probing Pi Gi-jeong.
Was there even a 0.01% chance he would tell him? Why did this guy keep having expectations at such a low probability? Are Min-sung and Min-ju the only ones he feels sorry for? What about me? Our pitchers? Our manager? Is it okay for our fans to be pitied?
At the relentlessly poking words, Pi Gi-jeong felt exhausted.
What saved him was none other than the pitcher on the mound.
Han Min-woo threw the fifth pitch.
The pitch type was a changeup. It was a course dropping down and inside.
Even considering Wang Ho-yeol's chilling words just a moment ago, it was a pitch Pi Gi-jeong would absolutely never choose from his perspective.
Yet that pitch worked again.
Crack—!
"Ugh!"
The batted ball Wang Ho-yeol hit rolled toward the second baseman.
Wang Ho-yeol, who let out a short groan, threw his bat and ran toward first base. But even if he held the 100-meter world record, he couldn't be faster than the ball.
"Out!"
One out with this. They caught the most threatening batter. They had passed the biggest hurdle they needed to overcome to finish this inning safely.
However, the situation that followed was completely different from Pi Gi-jeong's expectations.
Crack—!
"Safe!"
The 4th batter Jared Betori's mistimed hit dropped between the shortstop and left fielder, becoming a hit. What's commonly called a cheap hit.
Crack—!
After that, Han Min-woo gave up consecutive hits to the 5th batter Won Ju-cheol. It was an exquisite pitch on the outside edge of the zone, but Won Ju-cheol produced a hit that was hard to come by even two or three times a year, and knocked it.
The situation was one out, runners on first and second.
The 6th batter Chae Geon-uk entered the batter's box and said.
"Hyung, just give me one right down the middle."
"……."
Pi Gi-jeong sighed.
The 4th batter Jared Betori also did this 'give me a good pitch' bullshit in a clumsy tone. The 5th batter Won Ju-cheol also begged him, saying, 'Good afternoon. Hyung, you need to get off work quickly. Just give me one good pitch.'
And now even the 6th batter Chae Geon-uk was probing him.
'This isn't just probing once.'
Being a catcher is truly an exhausting position. Perhaps the reason he started hitting them with facts was also influenced by the catcher position.
To deal with it when hearing useless words, he had no choice but to either spout crap with his own mouth or strike back with words.
Fortunately, Han Min-woo saved Pi Gi-jeong, who was getting drained.
Crack—!
"Out!"
"Out!"
He induced a double play with a ground ball to the shortstop, ending the inning.
Pi Gi-jeong, standing at home plate waiting for Han Min-woo to come down, smiled broadly at him.
"Nice today too! Thanks for saving me, Min-woo."
"……?"
Pi Gi-jeong chuckled at Han Min-woo's puzzled expression.
"If it went on any longer, my ears would have bled."